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2014.02.09 - Bludhaven Nights
Bludhaven. A den of corruption, a bastion of iniquity, where every corner has a lurking backstabber and every mirror stares back with an accusatory look. And that's just the senior center during Bingo nights. Vorpal had ventured into Bludhaven, but only rarely and reluctantly. The last time he had been here, he had been following a chem trail (drug dealers, not planes) all the way from the Bronx. Then Nightwing happened, bullets, explosion, Robin, and that had been it. So, of course, it made sense to try to pick up the trail again. Drugs hadn't stopped coming in, so he figured there were new faces behind the old business, as it always happened. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop, trying to find the building in particular that his 'informant' had pointed out. It's rather hard to point at things when hanging upside down from a lamp, though. Off to Vorpal's right, a pair of white eyes glow in the darkness hauntingly. They stand silent for a beat. Then another beat. Then another. But after another moment, the darkness shifts and Nightwing appears, still shrouded mostly in shadows. "Vorpal..." his voice says; quiet of course. "I imagine we're here for the same reason." Vorpal gahs, jumping when Nightwing speaks. He's got the hearing of a cat, he could hear a pin drop, but the guy had managed to sneak up on him. He really needed to ask him who was his shoemaker. "... er... hello?" the Cheshire says, taking a few steps back. He never knew where he stood with the bat-ones. Last time they had met, Nightwing had been friendly towards him. And then he had gotten a bullet to the leg. Granted, it hadn't been Vorpal's fault, but after getting screamed at by Batman, he wasn't sure things like that counted or not. "I was out for my nightly constitutional." He says, recovering a little of his lighthearted grin. Just a little. "Nightly constitutional..." Nightwing seems to chuckle a bit from his spot in the dark. "That sounds so high brow. Much better than 'I'm out bustin' skulls.'" A brief pause before he adds, "You hear any news on those drugs?" An ear perks. The cat tries to look nonchalant. He looks at his claws. "We did blow up their warehouse last time, but it looks like it barely made a dent. They've got a new gang distributing--- whoever 'they' are... all I've been able to find out is that they've got a new drop house here, nearby. But I'm having problems pinpointing the exact location. I thought I should give it the old school try before bothering Oracle..." Vorpal's intelligent. Bothering Oracle, the busy woman his girlfriend is, can be hazardous to ones health if not fully prepared. "Well, if you'd like a hand, I'd be happy to scope it with you. Where is the spot in question?" "You sure about that, Nightwing?" the cat says, looking straight at him. Cats do have night vision, after all. "... I'm a bit of bad luck to hang around. Remember last time?" "I do. I'm not too worried about it. I've come closer to death since, and will come closer still before it's my time to go." Nightwing appears to be smiling as he's talking. "Where too from here?" "There's a guy around here called Mark Darnes. Or 'stitches', I guess they call him. He's got his finger on most of the networks around here. Lot of distributors check in with him... so I figured that the best way to get to the bottom of this was to climb the chain instead of wasting time with the distributors themselves." The cat shrugs, "It's an idea, anyways." "It's a good idea," Nightwing responds with a nod. "Stitches? There's gotta be a story behind that name..." Nightwing leans against one of the walls, and scratches his back with one of his escrima sticks. "Who do you think I am? O. Henry?" Vorpal grins. "I don't care about their stories... I more care about ending them with 'And they rotted in jail happily ever after'. You know this area pretty well?" "Back of my hand, KittyKat," Nightwing says with a laugh. "After Bats and I had our outs, I set up shop in this end of town. Been my turf ever since." His face twists as he wonders if his efforts have any effect whatsoever. "Tough cookie to crack. You know I'm not here to play turf wars. I had enough of that when your Bats was all..." And here Vorpal becomes the spitting image of Batman through his power of illusion. Even his voice is spot-on. "Raaaaraaaraaaar I am the night! Get out of my turf!" And then it vanishes, leaving Vorpal behind. "I mean... he screamed at Sue Storm. Sue Storm!" Nightwing chuckles, 'That's just his style, man. You gotta realize, he feels--and he might be right--that being hardcore is what's got him through. Tough to argue the point. He's not all bad." "I don't mind being hardcore with the bad guys. But when you're doing the schtick with everybody? Eh... maybey you need constipation medicine." He crouches on the edge of the roof, looking around. "So what he shows everybody else is all I have to go by." "Fair enough," Nightwing says with a smile. "I'll do you the favor of not sharing that information with him. He doesn't do well with constructive criticism." Vorpal looks over his shoulder for a second. "You had it out with him... I guess it'd be too nosy to be curious about that?" He returns to look at the buildings around, ears twitching. "Yeah," Nightwing says with a shrug. "I mean, I consider you a friend. I know about some of your exploits with other heroes. And you're one of the Birds...Or, almost one of the Birds or whatever. Anyways...The press has talked about there being different "Robins." I was the first one." "I wouldn't call myself a bird. The extent of my involvement has been to convince Huntress -not- to kill me on several occasions." He grins. And then processes this information, remembering his collection of clippings. "... right, right... you were the one with the bare legs. How did you not die of frostbite?" He laughs. Down on the street, there has been a slow and spaced, but regular trickle of people heading towards a specific building. Vorpan narrows his eyes and keeps them on it. Could it be? "Hey man, when you got it, flaunt it. That's what I always say." Nightwing's grin continues as he shakes his head. "Guess I was always moving. The outfit is a long story. That one I won't share." Nightwing nods over towards the group of people. "That it? Wanna go start some havoc?" "Yeah, well, if *I* were to dress up like that I'd get teased to no end... hmm... looks like it might be the place. And we're in time for a meeting... what a bummer we forgot to bring tea and biscuits." The Cheshire turns to look at Nighting "You up for showing me some more psychological warfare tricks of yours?" Nightwing chuckles, "Psychological Warfare? Yeah, I'll show ya a thing or two. Meet you there." And with that, the smiling Nightwing disappears. A second later there's a soft *pfft* of a release of gas and a zing of metal on metal. Just as quick as he arrived, he's gone. Vorpal pauses for a second to watch Nightwing go. And then he laughs to himself. "Tigra was right." Then, he is the one crossing the spaces of the night-- invisible. He lands on the rooftop of the building into a crouch, and slowly becomes visible. "Slowsie." Nightwing is crouched upon the roof, sitting criss cross apple sauce. He jokingly stifles a yawn. "Just about to cut the power. Scares the daylights out of them. You game, or do you have another play?" Vorpal smirks. "Sounds good to me. Do you want to do this subtle or house of horrors?" "Well, it's your case and your call. You are the one who found the lead." Nightwing shrugs and takes a snips from his belt and makes his way to the power. "Now you see us. Now you don't." People start yelling in the building below as the electricity blinks out. "Music to my ears..." The cheshire cat gestures, and illusory shadows gather around him, making him harder to see. He walks over to the door to the stairs below. "THey're going to send a couple of mooks up here to check on the power, I bet." "Yep." Nightwing hoists himself up into an air duct exhaust and slides down inside, awaiting the bad guys to arrive. A tap to his lenses turn them a darker color for him to remain inconspicuous. Can't miss what Vorpal has planned anyhow. Vorpal watches Night do his thing and then he stands by the door. Bold as you please. When he finally hears footsteps, he arches his eyebrows. A couple? Five, at least. Looks like this time they were better prepared for intervention. Vorpal slowly draws back from the door until he hears the nearest steps getting very close. With a grin, he grabs the frame of the entrance and swings, reaching to kick the man at the very top of the stairs square in the chest. This, of course, had the expected domino effect. There's one or two crunches and a whimper to indicate that the fall has been less than kind. Vorpal swings around again and jumps away from the door to hide behind one of the rooftop exhausts. That maybe took out one or two, so it must have evened out the numbers. "Very nice," Nightwing whispers through a grate in the exhaust. "The guys that come up are going to be terrified to even come up. Do they bum rush? Do they sneak out?" There's a flash of white teeth behind the grate. "Guess we'll see." There's a sound of scurrying footsteps- courage seems to have abandoned them. What, with two of their comrades on the stairs with broken bones... Well, all except a hulking figure of a man. He's six foot something, alright, and with the kind of build that gives one the impression that he wasn't born as much as he was assembled somewhere. He emerges from the stairs with a grim look on his face and blood trickling from an open wound on his forehead. And a gun in his hand. Vorpal peeks over the edge of the exhaust and is greeted with a pop, and a bullet that nearly clocks him. The man is wearing night vision goggles. Indeed, this bunch seems far more prepared then before. "Crap!" the cheshire says, ducking down. "No problem. Close your eyes." POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP Nightwing leaps out from the piping after another change in lenses. At that point he's all escrima sticks as flashbangs light up the night sky like a fireworks show. Vorpal closes his eyes, and after the rather loud 'thud' of the man's fall, he opens his eyes again and comes out from hiding. "... that's the one thing I haven't been able to create convincingly with my illusions yet. Light." He says. "Good job... the bastard didn't see what hit him..." he smirks. And suddenly, he is six feet tall, and the spitting image of the fallen goon. "And neither will they. What do you think?" He twirls around a little. "Even better than the real thing," Nightwing remarks as he twirls the escrima stick around. "You care if I meet you down stairs? I don't think I brought an outfit for inside." "I was thinking that I could carry you down." The large man smirks, his voice becoming low and ponderous. "Puny man. Little man. I smacked him on his head. Still man." Nightwing shrugs his shoulders, "Hey man. That's a good enough plan." Nightwing leaps up into the big man's arms. "Any jokes about carrying me across the threshold and my girlfriend my gut you. Just a heads up." He's joking, obviously. Vorpal laughs. "But what about eloping to the Casbah together?" He prepares, making sure the illusion is consistent. He reaches over and grabs the sticks. "I'll take these for appearance's sake. At the word, just take them from me and leap up, and I'll have your back. Nobody's getting shot this time. Ready to play possum?" "Yeah, she probably wouldn't be too fond of that. Do you have credit cards? I imagine she'd be vacationing in Barbados on your dime if you're not careful." Nighwing nods to Vorpal. Then he plays dead, or mostly dead, even sticks his tongue out at first before going serious. Vorpal bites his tongue hard so as not to laugh. Finally, when he gets it together, he descends down the stairs. His illusory self has the night vision goggles on, which explains why he can move that well in the dark. At least to the others. It turns out that the meeting is being held in a temporary headquarters. This can't be a permanent base- too much improvised stuff laying around. Being on the move seems to have become the motto of the day... perhaps these people have come to realize that even in Bludhaven, they cannot be completely impune. "Good job, Nelson." A portly man sitting at the end of a worn-down wooden table growls. The room has about five or six goons, all with lanterns to illuminate the place. "What about the lights?" Vorpal pauses for a moment. He realizes he didn't hear the man speak, so he can't copy his voice exactly. Fortunately he is fast on his feet. "Fucker cut it. Can't fix it." He speaks with a very hoarse voice. "What the heck happened to your voice?" The portly man snarls. "He tried t'strangle me." The goons gather around the table as he brings Nightwing's 'body' to it. "Knocked 'm out. Still alive. What do you wanna do with him?" "Lay him down." The portly man says, standing up. "And go fetch me Brenda from the car. Gotta do this special." Brenda? Keith sloly lowers Dick onto the table, laying him there with his sticks conveniently on top of his chest. It turns that 'Brenda' is one of those tacky, gold-plated guns that minor gangsters love to carry. This is learned when one of the minor thugs leaves and comes back with 'Brenda' several minutes later. "Gotta do this... special. Gotta send a message, right?" The portly man grins, taking his time to load the gun. Dear god, he hadn't even loaded it. Keith, at that moment, chooses to put a hand on Nihtwing's arm, and squeezes. The signal. Nightwing's eyes open under his mask as he does one of those kip ups while grabbing onto the escrima sticks. He's got the high ground now and uses it to smash downward with the escrima sticks. The first on the gun hand and the other right to the cheek bone. He flips over, putting the sticks away in his gauntlets for a moment as four wing-dings get thrown out towards the lanterns. The lanterns go out just as the 'boss' goes down, a stray shot firing in the night. And that's when a purple glowing bo appears in the darkness, wielded by Vorpal. It moves in a blur and ends up smacking two of the thugs, who were futilely reaching for their guns in the darkness, over the head. Another stray shot, this time from one of the men near Nightwing's side, and an "Ow!" from where Vorpal's bow had appeared a moment ago, now it had disappeared. "You hit?" Nightwing says calmly as he continues on in a flurry, unbothered by the darkness. He twirls in the night, and what little light there is reflects in flashes off the metal on his sticks. Nightwing goes low to sweep the legs off one thug before double smashing each side of his face with the sticks. "Yeah--- but I'm fine." Comes the reply. Right, summoning GLOWING WEAPONS in the darkness. Bad move. It had just been so instinctive. The Cheshire cat pummels one of the men and sends him against the wall, panting. "You ok?" "Fine. When we're done here, I've got a medpac." *SMACKSMACKSMACK* Nightwing moves through the room like a man who's done this hundreds of times. Because he has. At this point, the number of thugs is very, very small. That is, the number of CONSCIOUS thugs is very small. Vorpal stops what he is doing- since his guy is pretty much out- and looks at Nightwing. In the gloom, his night vision lets him see the ex-Robin move through the goons as if it were nothing at all. He stares. He takes notes. He doesn't lift a hand to help because, by this point, Nightwing needs no help with the rest of them... it's masterclass time. "Wow." "Thanks," Nightwing says as he finishes up. "Come," he says into his wrist and within a few moments the loud engine of his cycle approaches. "Let's get out of here and leave the rest to the GCPD. We need to take a look at that wound." "You sure?... I've got to... nevermind. You're right." Vorpal was going to say that he needed to make his report to the BSA. And he stopped before that made him sound like a total dork. He was clutching his right shoulder. "Alright, lead the way." "This comes before whatever you need to do," Nightwing says as he kicks open the door. There, remarkably, is his bike. "Get on," Nightwing says coolly as he throws one leg over the wide ride and revs the engine. "Safe house isn't far." "...okay... " The cat climbs up behind Nightwing and holds on to him. Somewhere, he knew, Tigra was dying of envy. This made him laugh a little, despite the pain. "Hey... sorry for the bother. I should have known better." "It's no bother," Nightwing says before the bike roars and they jet off down the road. Too loud to talk, too loud almost to think. There are few left turns, then right turns, then down an alley, and just about when it looks like they're going to crash into a wall, the brick opens, and they slide into a garage. Nightwing parks the bike, disembarks and flips on the light. Sterile. Halogen lights. White tile. White walls. Same with the ceiling. It looks like the lab from Daft Punk's Within in here. Starkly, Nightwing stands out against the environs. "Have a seat," he says and motions towards the chair that folds back. Vorpal blinks "... how did you get... ho... who?..." he sits down. "... I want a hideout just like this!" Nightwing looks over his shoulder and then back at Vorpal. "Better be nicer to Batman, then." With pursed lips, Nightwing begins to clean the wound to the shoulder, assessing it as he does so. Sterilizing it. "This will sting." And it does. Vorpal gasps and grips his own thighs hard, taking in a hiss of breath. He arches his back for a few seconds until he gets accustomed to the pain. "B-batman... would never... respect me anyways..." he says, finally exhaling. "You sell yourself short," Nightwing says. "With that attitude, you'd be right. But attitudes change with age and experience." Nightwing sits on a stool and opens up a small drawer. He pulls out a needle and takes a small bottle of liquid out. "Don't know if you hate needles, but this will only hurt for a second. Then your whole side will feel numb." "It's ok... I'm not particularly phobic of them. Cockroaches on the other hand..." he chuckles. "It's not the attitude... it's... stuff." He says quietly. "I guarantee this place is clean." Nightwing jabs the needle in and he was right, there's momentary pain, but after that a bit of euphoria. "It's stuff. Sounds complicated." Vorp unghs, but then relaxes as he exhales. The numbness feels nice, compared to the pain. "... you don't have to reassure me of anything, Nightwing. I trust you." He sets back against the chair more comfortably now, regulating his breathing so his heart stops beating so fast. "Just... stuff, you know. What I am. How ridiculous a thing I am. A purple cat. It's hard to be taken seriously when you're the Cheshire cat. Not without going... Joker." Nightwing shrugs, "I could tell you otherwise, but I doubt you'd believe me." He waits a moment for the medicine to truly take hold before grabbing out a tweezers. "I've seen a lot worse things than a purple cat." Nightwing's long tweezer digs around in Vorpal's shoulder for a moment before finally pulling the bullet out. He places gauze of it immediately as his other hand goes for stitching. Vorpal smirks and looks at the bullet. "Funny to think that that was in me, eh?" he says. He then looks up at Nightwing. "How long have you been doing this? I mean, I know you were The First. But I guess you have a better count of years than I do." "Bout 8 years now? I think that's right." Nightwing shrugs his shoulders, "Seems like just yesterday. How about you?" Nightwing begins to sew up Vorp's shoulder. He's done this a hundred times too, it looks like. Vorpal watches Nightwing's practiced hands. He was right to trust him. "Since.... July? That's seven months. Feels longer, though." "Made quite the name for yourself in a few short months. Off to a good start." Nightwing finishes the stitching and grabs a sponge to wipethe blood from the shoulder. It's a good thing Vorp doesn't faint at the sight of blood. "... thanks. It's a little intimidating." Not one month into his career, he had put the Joker away through sheer luck. This was something he had been dragging with him ever since, the 'He did X... shouldn't he be able to Y?' expectation. And the Bugle waiting for him to screw up royally. "Hey... thank you for helping me out. It means a lot." "No problem, Vorp," Nightwing says as he leans back. He reaches to the counter to grab a remote control device and lifts it to point at the far wall. It opens up revealing a small homey apartment with a 70s style couch, a bed, small bathroom, and a tv. "These drugs are going to keep you out of commission for a day or so. There's a kitchenette stocked with food and a tv with cable. My recommendation is you stay here for a few days until you rest up. No outside calls--no one knows you're here." Vorpal blinks a little, making sure that the drugs aren't making him see things. "...Jesus man, you have a hidden doors in your hidden doors. Who's your architect, Agatha Christie?" he chuckles and looks at the place. "... thank you, though. This is more than... look, just call me Keith. Keith O'Neil. The codename's just for fancies, I've got no secret identity. If I'm gonna be abusing your hideout, you might as well call me by my name." He raises a hand. "And before you say it, I know you can't give out yours, you are the night, secrecy, etcetera." He grins. "... but thank you. Really. I must do something to make it up for you... when I'm not higher than a flag on the fourth of July..." Nightwing laughs, "That's right. The night." His head tilts. "Good to meet you in earnest, Keith. You don't need to do anything, it's not a huge deal. The food should be enough. If not, you can call. If you need anything, you can call. That big black button there will put you in touch with Oracle. She can reach me at anytime." LOG NOTE: CHANGE SHTUFF TO 'oracle can reach me anytime' "It's ok... I don't eat a lot..." the Cheshire cat says and stands up. He walks over to Nightwing and gives him a drunken drug hug. "Thanks... yeah.. Oracle... I don't wanna bother h-them. I should be fiiine, really." He nods, stepping back. "... Iron Spider may get worried, though... maybe you could call him from a payphone and tell him I'm alright? I'll give you the codeword we use to make sure the message really comes from me." "Sure, I can do that," Nightwing says as he returns the hug. After pulling away eventually, he heads over to his bike. "Iron Spider your boy? I don't know that I've met him." "Yeah... he looks like...." he holds out a hand, and there's an image of Patrick. Well, in his Iron Spider costume, so his face is not visible. And then the illusion turns into a purple elephant, and then into Looker flying on a broom, and then finally into Wonder Woman dancing the Macarena. He dismisses the images, shaking his head "... hard to concentrate... drugged up. Sorry. Heheheh... the code phrase is 'Mimsy were the borogroves.'..." "Mimsy were the borogroves?" Nightwing stares at Vorpal, shaking his head slowly. "Alright man, I'll give him the message." "Hey, you've gotta admit... it's not something that just comes up in normal conversation. Good code phrase." Vorpal nods. "That's a fair point, Vorpal," Nightwing says with another shake of the head. "Alright, I've got to get back out there. I'll try and stop by in a day or so. If you leave, press the blue button. You'll have 10 seconds to get out before it locks itself up tight." Category:Log